


Exchange Rate

by foolsdance



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Wooing, Daryl's world view is more than a little askew, Jealous Daryl, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for a prostitute, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Courting, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsdance/pseuds/foolsdance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daryl finds an old flyer from a male escort agency, he's shocked to find someone he knows pictured on it. Who'd have thought Glenn had such a big secret to hide? As it happens, Daryl is in the market and if Glenn's selling, he's buying.</p>
<p>In which Daryl is an idiot and jumps to conclusions, Glenn is oblivious and thinks they're in love, and no one knows what's really going on until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchange Rate

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a few weeks before Rick is reunited with Lori and Carl.

Daryl finds the flyer stuck to the back of one the skin mags he'd asked Glenn to pick up for him on his supply run into the city yesterday. The plain white sheet of paper would almost certainly have gone unnoticed had it not fluttered free as he carried the small stack back to the tent. Curious, he picks it up, quirks his lips a little at it's contents and is about to crumple it up and throw it in the fire when something catches his eye.

 

One of the men pictured on it looks exactly like Glenn. Same hair, same eyes, same smile. He looks at the header one more time. No mistake, it's for an escort agency. A male escort agency. A _gay_ male escort agency.

 

Daryl had thought nothing could surprise him anymore. It seemed he was just proven wrong.

 

He gives the skin mags to Merle – their intended recipient all along, with a grunt and a “Here.”

 

Merle, who is sharper than most people give him credit for, takes one look at what was just tossed into his lap and laughs.

 

“It's gonna take more than that to get me off those little fillies scent, baby brother!”

 

Daryl knows he's right; all he'd hoped for was a few days reprieve from the looks and comments that, if they got much more blatant, were going to start more trouble than they might be able to handle.

 

“You've got a good right hand,” he says, “why don't you use it for a change, give the girls a rest. I think the older one is starting to catch on.”

 

Merle snorts and throws the pile on the ground next to him, his lip curled in disdain. “So? You think I give a fuck about that?” He leaves, complaining loudly as he goes about chicken shit little brothers, while Daryl quietly gathers up the magazines and stashes them in their tent. He knows Merle will find them there later and get distracted by them as intended but he doesn't want Daryl to think he can get away with manipulating him in any way, shape or form.

 

Alone in the tent, he takes out the flyer from where he'd tucked it in a pocket for safekeeping.

 

He's sure now that the third man in is Glenn, even though the name listed is different. All whores used fake names anyway, didn't they? Merle used to bring them home sometimes, women with names like Candy or Bobbie or Cinnamon. He was pretty sure those girls and someone like Glenn plied their trade in two different universes, however. Strung out on drugs more often than not, careworn and sickly looking, they were nothing like Glenn. With his looks Daryl would be willing to bet he used to bring in top dollar before the world ended.

 

Daryl folds the flyer back up and puts it away.

 

He doesn't burn it though, or throw it away. Every so often he takes it out and studies the men pictured there, or rather, one man in particular.

 

Over the next few days he finds himself watching Glenn more and more often. He is so graceful in the way he holds himself and the way he moves through camp that Daryl can't help but picture him moving just that way in bed. All fluid motions and gentle caresses and... and those hands. Small, almost delicate, but strong enough to do any job necessary. He watches as Glenn whittles on a stick one evening while they all sit around the fire, one hand gripping the wood firmly while the other moves back and forth over it rhythmically. He'd probably hold another man's shaft just like that, one grasping the root while the other stroked gently at first, then harder and harder...

 

“Daryl.”

 

Daryl starts and flushes as he realizes he's been caught staring.

 

“Watcha lookin' at? Huh? What's caught your eye?” Merle is looking at Carol, sitting next to Glenn and Daryl realizes he thinks he's looking at her.

 

“I'd pick another if it were me, baby brother. That jackass she's married to won't stand by and watch you diddle his woman. Nope, you'd end up having to take care of him and then the shit would really hit the fan.” Merle picks his teeth with his knife and then spits on the ground. “Pretty sure these folks still think killin' is murder.”

 

Daryl doesn't correct his brother, it's better to let the misconception stand than to deal with Merle's temper. A temper he'd seen more than once, but never more so than the time he'd caught Daryl kissing Danny behind the gym in tenth grade.

 

The cast hadn't come off for six weeks, giving him plenty of time to realize that since he liked girls well enough, it wasn't worth the trouble to go for something a little more exotic.

 

“I'm sure you're right, Merle,” he says and that's the end of that.

 

The thing is, Merle isn't the only one with needs in the Dixon family. Daryl's been feeling the urge for something other than his right hand more and more lately himself, only he's not willing to risk stirring up a hornet's nest for a roll in the hay.

 

A hooker would be perfect. No muss, no fuss, no expectations come morning.

 

The only thing was, what would he pay him with? Paper money was nothing more than kindling now, barter being the currency of the new world. Food, weapons and ammo were the right at the top of the list of the most valuable items to trade, so that would be a good place to start. Food was out, since he already shared whatever he hunted. His bow was right out of the question, of course, along with his dad's good pocket knife. One look at that and Merle would know right away where it came from. That left his hunting knife and the machete.

 

It takes him two more days to get Glenn alone. Two long, frustrating days of waiting for him to wander off from camp for a few minutes before realizing that it wasn't going to happen. In the end he helps things along by simply asking Glenn to come with him.

 

Glenn follows and Daryl wants to tell him not to trust people so easily but in this case it suits his purpose so he doesn't. Instead he pulls out the hunting knife and thrusts it in Glenn's general direction.

 

“For you,” he says.

 

Glenn looks at the knife and then back at Daryl, confusion clear on his face.

 

“I thought you could use it,” Daryl adds and starts to wonder if he's made a big mistake. Maybe his trade isn't good enough. It might even be that Glenn has decided to leave his old ways behind with the old world.

 

But then Glenn smiles and takes the knife, sliding it in and out of it's sheath admiringly.

 

“It's really nice,” he says, “but...”

 

“So I was thinking we could. You know. Do something sometime,” Daryl blurts out and holds his breath, waiting for Glenn's answer.

 

Glenn looks confused, takes his hat off and puts it back on again before asking in a sudden rush of understanding, “You mean like a date?”

 

And Daryl remembers that's what whores call their sessions with their tricks so he nods happily.

 

“Yeah,” he answers, glad that they are finally on the same page, “a date.”

 

“Well. Um,” Glenn says and Daryl is suddenly sure he's going to say no and right at this moment he doesn't want that to happen more than anything in the world.

 

“Please,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes locked on Glenn's.

 

Glenn pauses then shrugs. “Sure. Why not?” He starts to leave and then stops, looking over his shoulder at Daryl. “I'm guessing you want to keep this secret. From Merle, anyway.”

 

Daryl nods. “Please,” he says again and wonders if this will offend Glenn but he just shrugs again.

 

“Not like I want to have to deal with his bullshit, either.” With that, he's gone, melting back into the group as effortlessly as always. Daryl wonders what it's like, to be able to make friends so easily. It must come in handy in Glenn's line of work.

 

He wonders if Glenn ever went to fancy parties or nightclubs or whatever, hanging off some rich guy's arm, or if it was just all about the sex. The he wonders how he'll compare to all those people, who were no doubt polished and presentable and pretty much the opposite of him.

 

He supposes it doesn't really matter now that the rule books have been rewritten but wishes he didn't feel like he was back in high school again, crushing on the pretty and popular and utterly unattainable. He reminds himself that Glenn is pretty much the definition of attainable, and goes about his day feeling a little better than before.

 

It isn't until late that night that it occurs to him that he'll need to find somewhere for them to meet. Safety being the top concern, of course, with privacy running a close second. Unfortunately safety was iffy, especially away from camp while privacy in camp was non-existent.

 

While out hunting the next day he found something that he thought would work, a large outcropping of limestone rock sheltering a small, shallow cave. After some thought, he spends what remains of the day rigging up a semicircle of snares big enough to catch a walker around the entrance.

 

“What's this?” Glenn asks, laughing, the following day when Daryl proudly shows him the little hideaway he'd created. Daryl rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sure this was a stupid idea.

 

Glenn must read something in his face because his voice loses all traces of humor.

 

“This is nice, Daryl. Really.”

 

Daryl grins at the sincere admiration in his voice. “Watch out for the snares,” he says and points every single one out until he's sure Glenn will be able to avoid them in the future. They go inside the cave and sit side by side on the blanket of leaves he'd spread out earlier, both facing the entrance.

 

“So,” Glenn says.

 

“So,” Daryl says, completely unsure of where to go from here. He's pretty sure Merle's technique of shoving them down and shoving in isn't going to fly with Glenn, and that's not really his idea of a good time anyway.

 

“Oh! I brought wine,” Glenn says, and pulls a bottle out of his backpack. “It's just twist on, but still good. I think. I, ah, didn't think about glasses though,” he says, like that matters.

 

Daryl takes the bottle from him, opens it, and hands it back so he can take the first drink. “After you,” he says, feeling like he's finally doing something right, even if it kind of feels like he's accidentally wandered into a chick flick. They take turns drinking until the bottle is empty and Daryl feels brave enough to make the first move.

 

He swoops in and kisses Glenn, fast and hard and hot.

 

Glenn's eyes are wide open and blinking when he pulls back and he isn't sure if that's a good reaction or not. At least, not until Glenn kisses him back. From there it's a confusion of clothing being removed and mutual touches and if this didn't go somewhere real quick like, Daryl was going to come in his underwear like a kid just learning what his dick is for.

 

And as a matter of fact, that's pretty much exactly what happens. Glenn's mouth is attacking his like he's hungry for him and it feels amazing, the unexpected aggression being an equally unexpected turn on. One hand is behind Daryl's head, holding him in place like Glenn thinks he's going to make a run for it, while his other hand is making it's way down his naked chest. His nails, short and blunt and nothing like the long painted talons he's used to, rake over his heated skin. Not hard, just enough to push his already sensitive skin into another dimension of shivering need.

 

Daryl bites off a moan as that hand finds a nipple, rubs it briefly before making it's way down to the part of his body that's feeling terribly neglected about now. He holds his breath as Glenn touches him outside of his boxers, which is a little disappointing but it feels good enough that he really doesn't mind all that much. Especially not when he starts to stroke, gently at first, then harder as things progress.

 

He flops backwards, sending leaves scattering in his wake and pulling Glenn down with him. He doesn't seem to mind this change in altitude one bit and even laughs a little as he scoots down to sit on Daryl's legs.

 

Daryl doesn't like that so much, because restricting his freedom of movement nowadays feels like a supremely bad idea no matter what the circumstances, but then Glenn goes back to rubbing him and he doesn't care where he sits anymore. He starts to wiggle underneath Glenn, trying to get those damn boxers off but it's too late.

 

Once his vision returns and he can breath again he looks down at his now stained underpants with a grimace.

 

“Sorry,” he says although he's not really sure what he's apologizing for. It just seems like the thing to do.

 

Glenn is still sitting on his legs and Daryl stirs a bit, letting him know it's time to get off. Glenn takes the hint with no sign of irritation, sitting pressed up against his side.

 

“So...” he says and Daryl frowns, knowing he's missing something.

 

“What?” he asks, eyes closed and drowsy.

 

“Hey,” Glenn says as he smacks his arm, “Didn't your mom teach you any manners?”

 

Daryl's eyes snap open to see that Glenn, also stripped down to nothing but boxers, is sporting wood of his own. Glenn frowns and gesturers at said wood meaningfully.

 

“Well?” he asks when Daryl just stares at him.

 

Huh. It looks like Glenn expects him to... reciprocate. Which doesn't seem right, in his mind, because he's pretty sure whores are supposed to be all about getting the other guy off.

 

What the hell, he's game. If that's how Glenn wants to play this, he'll go along.

 

He sits up and scoots back until he reaches the wall of the small cave, then gestures for Glenn to come to him. Glenn walks over to him on his knees and squawks a mock protest as Daryl pulls him back between his legs.

 

“You wanna lose the shorts?” Daryl’s says into his hair, grinning at the enthusiastic head shake he gets in return. “Lift up,” he orders and Glenn does as he's told, rising up just enough for Daryl to slide his boxers down to his knees. Glenn yanks them off the rest of the way, kicking them away impatiently.

Daryl thinks the kid is leaking enough precome that this shouldn't be too dry but spits on his hand anyway just in case. Glenn hums and leans hard against him at the first touch and Daryl doesn't know why he ever hesitated about doing this.

 

It feels amazing. Soft and hard at the same time, the same and yet somehow completely different from rubbing one out with his own dick. He can feel himself getting hard again, even though his junk is kind of squashed, pressed against Glenn's back in an uncomfortable twisted position. He strokes a few more times before deciding he needs to deal with that asap.

 

Glenn moans a protest as he stops stroking.

 

“Lean forward a sec,” Daryl says and doesn't wait for Glenn to do as he's asked but pushes him up a bit himself. Glenn shivers as Daryl's hand brushes against his back while he's adjusting himself, so he does it again, on purpose this time.

 

“Like that, do ya?” he says unnecessarily, and spends a few minutes copying Glenn's technique from earlier, lightly raking his nails over Glenn's back. Eventually Glenn demands he get back to the main attraction so he does, planting one hand on his chest and nestling him firmly against his front. This time his dick is positioned exactly right.

 

“Holy shit,” Glenn says, obviously liking the feeling of Daryl rubbing off against his back while he's being jacked off in front.

 

“You're so hot,” Daryl says into his ear, “hot for me, aren't you?” Glenn says something that might be a yes or maybe it was harder and Daryl steps things up, moving his hips and hand in unison until they both reach their climax.

 

“Holy shit,” Glenn says again and this time his voice is weak and shaky.

 

“You got that right,” Daryl says and Glenn laughs in response.

 

They sit like that until the rough stone starts to really dig into his back, the sticky mess between them making an obscene suction noise as they separate. Luckily Daryl has a bandana handy and Glenn smiles as he carefully wipes him clean.

 

“So...” he says, trailing off as he doesn't seem to know what to say. Which is funny, because normally Glenn never seemed to be at a loss for words.

 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” Daryl says, although he doesn't know when that will be because he doesn't have anything else worth trading. Nothing he can really afford to give up, anyway.

little down as they leave and Daryl hopes he hasn't messed this up somehow. He's really good at that, without even trying. He's never quite figured people out. He's pretty sure he never will.

 

~~~~~

 

 

It is, in fact, only a week later that it occurs to Daryl that he could give Glenn something else. Something from the food category but still special. He'd heard him talking the night before to that lawyer girl, telling her about the biscuits his mom used to make for him and his sisters.

 

Biscuits he could do. His grandmother had taught him how when he was barely big enough to see over the scarred formica table top in her kitchen. The only tricky thing would be gathering up the ingredients. Flour he knew they had, along with powered milk and salt. The Crisco, or preferably lard, and the baking powder he wasn't so sure of.

 

Of course, Lori has to catch him rummaging through the group's food supplies.

 

“Looking for anything in particular?” she asks and Daryl flushes like he's done something wrong. Which is ridiculous, of course, he and Glenn were supplying the majority of the food for the group between them. No one could say anything about him making something for Glenn. Not that anyone could know that's who the biscuits are for, of course.

 

“Baking powder,” he says, “and Crisco or lard.”

 

Lori eyes him like he's Carl and she's knows he's up to something but just hands him a small red canister. “Baking powder. We're out of shortening. Never had any lard.”

 

She says the word lard like she's never heard of cooking with it but then again, she's a city girl at heart. “Guess I'll have to make some,” he says, thinking out loud.

 

“Make lard?” she asks and Daryl nods.

 

“Just need some fat to render.”

  
Lori's face is scrunched up like he's said something gross and disgusting but the hell with her, if she didn't like it she didn't have to eat it.

 

It's another three days of work, two to hunt the wild boar, another to dress it and render the fat. The camp is so focused on the bounty of fresh pork that almost nobody notices him stirring the cast iron dutch oven for the several hours it took to melt down the fat.

 

Carl does, wandering over at one point, a greasy hank of meat dangling from one hand and a contented look on his face. “Watcha makin'?” he asks curiously. “Is it soup?”

 

“Nope,” Daryl says shortly.

 

Carl's forehead wrinkles as he tries to come up with what else it could be and Merle picks that moment to stick his nose in.

 

“Hoo-eee, little brother, I know that smell. Lard means biscuits, am I right?”

  
Daryl nods shortly, not wanting to go into it with his brother.

 

“You always did make the best biscuits, almost as good as Mamaw. Always knew you shoulda' been a girl,” and he laughs uproariously at his own joke, not noticing or caring that no one is laughing with him. Thankfully he loses interest and wanders off soon after to help himself to more of the roasted pork.

 

“You're making biscuits with the fat?” Carl asks after he leaves.

  
Daryl looks up, surprised to find him still there. Most people leave when Merle shows up.

 

“That's right,” he says and Carl smiles.

 

“Cool. Maybe I can have one?” and Daryl smiles in response despite himself. Sometimes Carl reminds him of the kid he might have been, if things had been different.

 

“Sure, why not,” he answers and Carl leaves with a polite thank you. Lori and whoever that kid's dad was sure did a bang up job teaching him his manners.

 

Glenn has been talking to him more and more often lately, ever since that day in the cave, but not so much that anyone would think anything about it. At least Merle, the only one he really cared about keeping this thing with Glenn a secret from, hasn't said anything about it. He wasn't trying to keep the whole biscuit making project a secret from Glenn, exactly, but he hasn't gone out of his way to tell him about it either. So when Glenn comes up with a hopeful smile on his face Daryl knows either Carl or Lori has most likely spilled the beans.

 

“Hey,” he says brightly and Daryl tries and fails not to smile in return.

 

“A little bird told me you're making biscuits,” he says when Daryl doesn't respond.

 

“That's right,” he answers and Glenn smiles somehow even more brightly than before. It was blinding.

 

“That's awesome. I haven’t had biscuits in... forever. It's one of my all time favorite foods.”

 

“I know,” Daryl says shortly, keeping focused on the pot in front of him. When he finally sneaks a look at Glenn, unable to resist any longer, he sees the other man watching him with a look he can't quite interpret.

 

“Daryl,” he says, and his voice is kind of high and funny sounding, “are you making them for _me_? Because I like them?”  
  


Daryl flushes and mumbles a yes because now that it's been said it out loud, it sounds stupid. Glenn was probably used to really nice gifts, things like... well, he couldn't think of anything right off hand but he was pretty sure no one ever tried to buy his time with biscuits.

 

“That's... that's nice. I mean, really, really nice,” and Daryl looks up to see if he's being made fun of but no, Glenn's eyes are shiny and he looks like he means what he's saying.

 

“Don't thank me until you taste them,” he says and Glenn laughs a little shakily.

 

“No, I mean that you'd go to all this trouble...”

 

Daryl shrugs like it was no big thing even though it kind of was. That damned boar had been a bitch to track and had come close to goring him on one occasion.

 

“I'm making them in the morning. For breakfast,” he says and Glenn nods like they'd just made a date.

 

“I'll be there,” he promises and he is. Up before anyone else and watching as Daryl lowers both the dutch oven and the iron skillet, because one batch wouldn't be enough, into the small fire pit he'd dug the night before.

 

“So you're baking in that? In the ground?” Glenn sounds doubtful and Daryl manages not to snort at the city slicker question.

 

“Yup,” he is all he says as he piles hot coals on top of the lids. “Best damn oven I've ever used.”

 

While they wait Daryl uses the leftover dough to show him how to bake bread on a stick, wrapped around the whittled end in a strip and held over the heat like they were toasting marshmallows. It's not long – twenty minutes or so – and the biscuits are ready.

 

“Looks like you get first pick,” Daryl says and carefully lifts one piece out, placing it on a saucer to cool slightly before passing it over to Glenn. “No butter,” he says. “Sorry.”

 

Glenn nibbles his first bite, then all but inhales the rest. “Holy shit,” he says, reaching for another. “If you ever meet my mom you've got to promise not to tell her this, but your biscuits beat hers hands down.”

 

And Daryl isn't even embarrassed when he gets hard at the pornographic food sounds coming out of Glenn's mouth, because he's only human, dammit.

 

Seeing how much Glenn enjoyed his cooking almost distracts him from the goal of this whole thing. His dick was kind enough to remind him.

 

“I've been thinking, maybe we could go, ah,” and his nerve fails him at the last minute.

 

Glenn licks his lips before finishing his sentence for him. “To the cave?” he says and Daryl wishes they were there right the fuck now because now all he can think about is getting that pretty pink tongue somewhere, anywhere, on his body.

 

“Yeah,” he says and something of what he's feeling must be coming through because Glenn slants him a knowing look.

 

“Race you,” he says and they do, but not before Daryl covers up the food. He has a feeling Glenn would never forgive him if they were gotten into before they got back.

 

As it turns out, the biscuits are gotten into by the time they get back, but not by wild animals. Just about everybody in camp is up and out and, not coincidentally, every single biscuit is gone. The thanks he got were kind of nice but paled in comparison to the way Glenn had already thanked him. He knew he'd be making a new batch up soon.

 

Eventually, though he knew he needed something new to trade.

 

“I've been thinking,” he says one day as they lay together side by side in their cave. “Maybe you'd want to learn to hunt. Bow hunt,” he added, in case he was being unclear.

 

Glenn looks at him in surprise, maybe because this is the first time he's ever suggested they spend any time together alone that didn't involve sex in some way, shape or form.

 

“Okay,” he says, but it sounds more like a question than an answer so Daryl adds, “You never run out of ammo, with a bow. Good for protection and food.” Glenn looks at him like he's said something nice but he's not sure what, exactly, that could be.

 

They make a date for the next day and Daryl congratulates himself on being a crafty bastard. Not only is this an easy barter but he gets to spend the day putting his hands on Glenn under the guise of teaching. As a bonus, if anyone should see them it would all look completely above board.

 

All that touching gets Glenn worked up, though, or maybe he just wants to get a head start on paying Daryl back for the lessons so he ends up with his dick down Glenn's throat as he kneels in front on him in a pile of leaves. They are far enough away from camp, though, that he thinks they are pretty safe.

 

He wants to take his time and make it last but he doesn't dare. The threat of discovery combined with the possibility of walkers wandering through has him finishing up faster than he'd like. Glenn laughs when Daryl comes and gets glared at for his trouble.

 

“Getting too distracted out here will get you killed,” he reminds Glenn but is sorry that he did when the other man's mood is instantly dampened.

 

He doesn't bitch Daryl out though, which is nice, just asks if he wants to go back to the cave.

 

He does. So they do.

 

“I didn't know lard was so versicle,” Glenn says sleepily afterwards and Daryl licks a stripe of it off him, making him shiver at the contact.

 

Sometimes making do with what was at hand was downright fun.

 

It's a couple of days later that a group of ten or so comes through, looking to trade canned goods for information. It seems they're thinking of heading into Atlanta and want to get some idea of the lay of the land.

  
Glenn gets this serious look on his face at that and offers to tell them anything they need to know. Shane takes over the negotiations and they end up with four cans of peaches and three green beans. Glenn goes off with two of the men to talk while the others stand around making awkward small talk.

 

Daryl watches them leave with narrowed eyes and a strange, tight feeling in his chest.

 

It's two long hours later before they finally make it back to camp. Glenn's face is flushed and he's laughing and in a good mood but that's not what makes Daryl's blood boil. No, it's the fact that his fucking shirt is on inside out, which it most definitely was _not_ before he'd left camp.

 

Lori invites the group to stay and eat supper with them but they turn her down, saying they need to get a few more miles down the road before dark. Daryl doesn't know if he's glad they're gone or not – on the one hand, he doesn't have to look at any of their stupid faces anymore, two of them in particular, but on the other, he feels the need to beat someone up rushing through his veins.

 

He grabs Glenn as soon possible, all but dragging him through the woods to the cave so they can hash this out without an audience. It doesn't occur to him until they're inside that Glenn may have brought them _here,_ of all places, to ply his trade.

 

“What the _hell_ , dude?” Glenn has the nerve to ask, rubbing his arm and looking at him like _he_ was the bad guy here.

 

“Did you bring them here?” he demands to know and Glenn's look changes from pissed off to confused.

 

“What, you mean Tom and Eddie? Why would I...”  
  
“Did you fuck them both?” he asks, fighting hard to keep his temper leashed, “Was it one at a time or did you do them both together? Well?” he adds when Glenn just stands there, staring at him with an open mouth and dumbfounded expression. “I hope you at least got something good from them.” With that he starts running his hands over Glenn's body, checking pockets and everywhere else for whatever trinket he'd traded his body for.

 

Glenn slaps his hands away and steps back, looking at him as though he's never seen him before. “You're a fucking idiot, you know that? A fucking _crazy person_! Why would I fuck someone I just met? Someone I don't even know, _especially_ when we're a couple?”

 

Daryl feels the world slow down to a crawl as Glenn's words register. He thought they were a couple? He doesn't realize he's said this out loud until Glenn answers him.

 

“Of course we're a couple. What the _hell_ do you think we've been doing... Oh my God.” he says and taking one step back from Daryl, then another. “You thought, you think that I...” and with that, he turns and leaves. Leaves Daryl standing there with his hands still outstretched and his insides frozen solid, just beginning to realize he may have made the biggest mistake of his life.

 

The next day he was sure of it, when Glenn wouldn't even look at him or let him explain or anything else. In fact, he did a pretty damn good job of pretending Daryl wasn't there.

 

“I hope you boys make up soon,” Andrea says at supper that night as she's watching Glenn leave without eating a bite.

 

Daryl stops eating, spoon halfway to his mouth. He sets it back down into his bowl of stew with a studied air of nonchalance. “What?” he says, careful to keep his voice low.

 

She looks at him with a smile that he wants to hate but can't quite muster up the energy to do so. “Did you _really_ think no one knew?” she asks and Daryl wonders how he could have been so wrong about just about everything. “Everyone thinks you're very sweet together. So whatever you did, you need to make it right with him. Now.” she adds when just stares at her, unmoving.

 

“Okay,” is pretty much all he can manage before leaving his meal behind to go after Glenn. He finds him leaning up against the side of Dale's RV, looking up at the stars.

 

“What do you want?” he asks in what Daryl is pretty sure is supposed to be a hateful way but just sounds mostly sad.

 

“You didn't eat,” is all he comes up with and Glenn snorts.

 

“So why do you care?” he asks in that same tone and Daryl ducks his head.

 

“I care,” he says and Glenn snorts again.

 

“I don't believe you,” he says and Daryl can understand that. He leaves without a word and feels Glenn's eyes on his back the whole way out. Glenn's eyes get all wide and concerned when he comes back with Merle of all people and he kind of goes into a defensive stance as they approach. It's a reaction he's used to when he has Merle at his side.

 

“Merle, I, we...” he starts and is mercifully interrupted.

 

“You drug me away from my dinner just to tell me you're fucking the Chinaman?” Merle says because yes, he really does notice more than people think and Daryl really should _know_ this by now. His anger evaporates at Daryl's expression and he starts laughing. “Jesus H Christ, little brother, you really thought I didn't know? You were doing everything but holding hands and skipping through the daisies.”

 

“But I, but _you_...”

 

“You think I give a flying fuck who or what you screw anymore? It's a new world, and a hole is a hole.” He looks Glenn over, mouth pulled up into an ugly sneer. “And this one is as pretty as a girl anyways.”  
  
Daryl winces and looks over at Glenn to see how he's taking this but his face is as blank and calm as a mask.

 

Merle leaves with nothing more than a token punch to Daryl's arm as punishment for interrupting his meal and Daryl waits for Glenn's reaction.

 

“Was that your boombox moment?” he says when they're alone and Daryl looks at him, confused.

  
“What?” he asks and Glenn sighs.

 

“You know, the big romantic gesture to get the girl back? Like in the movie? You know what, never mind. I know what you're trying to do, what you're trying to say in that big galoot way of yours but I just don't know. I don't know if this can work.”

 

And there's no way Daryl is going to let it go at that, so he says, “Wait!” as Glenn starts to walk away. He pulls the flyer out of his pocket and hands it over to Glenn.

 

“What's this?” he asks, peering at the paper in the moonlight.

 

“Look at the third one on the top,” Daryl suggests and can tell when Glenn sees the resemblance.

 

“Holy shit,” he says, “That looks like me.” He looks at the flyer, then looks at Daryl, then looks at the flyer again. “So that's how you got that idea in your head,” he says, “but you're still an ass.”

 

Daryl's hopes take a nosedive at his words but he refuses to go down without a fight.  
  
“I am,” he agrees and Glenn rolls his eyes.

 

“I can't fight with you if you don't fight back,” he grumbles and looks at the flyer again. “I wonder where he is now? It's weird, you know, seeing someone with your face. Well, his nose is a little wider than mine but it's still really creepy. I hope he made it okay,” he says and starts to look really sad so Daryl sidles up to him and hesitantly puts one arm around his shoulders.

 

“We'll probably never know,” he says and is sorry he said anything when Glenn just looks sadder.

 

“None of us know, do we? How much time we'll have. I mean, it was true before but now, it could happen to any of us at any time.”

 

And that sounded promising for Daryl's cause so he agrees, even though he's thinking it's stating the obvious.

 

“We should live while we can,” Glenn says, and turns in Daryl’s arms so they are face to face, “love while we can,” and that sounds really, really good so Daryl does the only thing he can think do to next, he kisses him.

 

~~~~~

 

 

Everyone congratulates them when they go back to the group, well, everyone except that ass of a husband Carol is saddled with. And Merle, of course, who mutters something about fairies and fags that makes Daryl think he's not quite as okay with him and Glenn as he'd said he was.

 

He looks over at Glenn, flushed and grinning sheepishly as Andrea hugs him and Amy kisses his cheek and thinks he'll be keeping a real close eye on him from now on. Just in case.

 

Now that no one was pretending to not know about them anymore there was much good natured teasing and kidding coming their way. It's strange – Daryl feels like he's part of the group, _really_ part of it for the first time. He isn't at all comfortable being the center of attention like this, even though Glenn doesn't seem to mind, but in the end it doesn't last all that long.

 

He never does ask why Glenn's shirt was on inside out that day, and Glenn never tells him the perfectly innocent explanation.

 

Lori's husband shows up out of the blue and no one's talking about them anymore, which is fine and dandy with him. Next to the mess _that_ creates their little drama is yesterday's news.

 

 

 


End file.
